Title: Tenebrous
Author: Vickie Moseley
Written for Virtual Season 13
Category: MT, CD (assumed) SA
Rating: E for everyone
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended
Archives: yes
Author's notes: This is the VS 13 season finale. It
is written as a cliffhanger with the conclusion
coming in the VS 13 summer blockbuster: Virtual
Season X: Tintabulation. That episode will air (and
be archived) on www.virtualseasonx.com on Aug.
25, 2006 for two weeks exclusive and then can be
archived elsewhere.One more thing -- do you trust
me?
Comments: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
Tenebrous
by Vickie Moseley
Outside Landers, California
June 7, 2006
11:54 pm
The Integratron was a massive bubble of a building
sitting in the middle of the Californian desert, just
outside Landers. Started in 1957 by George Van
Tassel, a former aircraft engineer, it took 18 years
to complete. Inside, the curved roof and exposed
wood beamed ceiling was supposed to slow down
the aging process through electrostatic frequencies.
The Integratron, for all its attributed value, had
fallen into disrepair after the death of its creator.
But others interested in its unique design and effects
bought it and turned it into a mecca of new age
healing. Hundreds of people from spiritualists to
aging rock stars were drawn to the white dome to
experience the 'acoustically perfect tabernacle and
energy machine'.
But not everyone drawn to the Integratron was
looking for a new lease on life or the perfect rave.
Some came to the desert to reach outward and
upward.
Two lone figures sat on a blanket outside the 38-
foot dome-shaped structure. The stars twinkled
bright near the waxing gibbous moon in transit,
directly overhead. The light from that moon cast
the dome behind the couple in stark relief, painting
it a shimmering, radiant white. The wind
occasionally picked up crumbs of sand and dust,
which kept stinging their eyes as they searched the
horizon.
"Are you sure we'll see them tonight?" the doe-eyed
girl asked of her male companion. "I mean, how do
you know they'll be out tonight?"
"It's a full moon," he countered, feigning knowledge
he didn't have.
"No, it's not. Not yet," she countered, crossing her
arms. "You just brought me out here because you
want to get laid," she accused.
"I haven't touched you!" he retorted. "Here, want
some more wine?" he asked in an artful dodge of
her accusation.
"Sure." They sat and sipped in silent contemplation
of the stars. "What exactly are you hoping we'll
see? What the hell are these 'lights' anyway?"
"UFOs, man. They come here. They're attracted to
this thing." He jerked his thumb back over his
shoulder toward the white structure.
"It looks like one of those places where they have
telescopes," she said skeptically.
"Nah, it's cool inside. No telescopes, but lots of
cool shit. They have these bowls made out of stone
and shit that make these sound waves -- you can
take a sound bath."
"You're putting me on," she said with a raised
eyebrow.
"No, seriously. My mom said someone at her office
came out here before. She said that shit was better
than botox, dude! Really, it makes you look
younger."
"I don't need to be younger. I need to be warmer,"
she told him unequivocally.
He turned his head toward her and smiled. "Here,
we can share my jacket," he offered. He pulled one
arm out of the sleeve and motioned for her to move
closer. He tugged the denim around her shoulder,
his arm holding her in place. "There. Better?"
She nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "It really is
pretty with the stars and the moon. But how long
are we going to sit here -- "
She stopped talking suddenly when a bright star
grew larger in the northwestern sky. It was low to
the horizon and seemed to be moving toward them.
"Is that -- "
"Shhhhh," he cautioned and fumbled around on the
blanket. "Where's my damned camera?" he
growled. Finally grasping the digital camera, he let
go of the girl to bring it up to his eye. "Oh, wow,
this is so cool -- "
As he clicked off shot after shot, the star/craft sped
closer and closer. Suddenly there was a ferocious
wind and a tremendous sound, and the ground
around them shook, knocking over the wine bottle
and spilling the remaining drops on the blanket.
Both teens looked up at the craft, now directly
overhead, blocking out the stars and the moon. As
they stared at the underside, a brilliant light erupted
from the bottom of the craft, encasing them in
brightness.
In the wink of an eye, the light -- and the teens were
gone.
Georgetown, District of Columbia
June 9, 2006
His first sensation was the smell of burning wood
and burning flesh. He'd experienced those smells
enough times to know that his next impulse would
be paralyzing fear. Fire. Fire in a house on Cape
Cod, his arm burning from the embers. Fire killing
dozens of people on a bridge over Ruskin Dam,
searching through the body bags in anguished terror
of finding his one true friend in the world. Fear.
But this wasn't the same. He needed to look further.
Forcing himself to stand, he looked around.
A dense fog hung in the air, but after a moment, he
recognized it as smoke. All around him were huts,
grass huts with thatched roofs like he'd seen in the
English countryside many years before during a
break from school. Thatched roofs, now ablaze
with flames leaping skyward, orange, red, and
yellow the only color in the grey sky.
As he looked around he saw them. Dark shadows
on the ground that slowly formed into bodies. They
were shrouded in black cloth; some were tied at the
neck, across the chest, the legs. Others appeared to
have just rolled out of bed. None of them moved.
Death was as thick as the smoke and hung over
everything.
The wind shifted and ash blew in his eyes. The
flames were closer now, he had to move, but
everywhere he looked the burning huts surrounded
him, moving closer to him, cutting off all means of
escape. Bits of burning thatch were swept up in the
maelstrom and landed on his cheek, on the back of
his neck. He brushed them off, but others soon
followed.
One hut was untouched by the flames. He ran
toward it, pulling on the wooden door until it came
free. He fell into the darkened room, stumbling
over something on the floor just in front of the
entrance. The light from the open door and one tiny
window did little to reveal the contents of the room.
He bent down to try and see what he'd stumbled
over.
He knew it was another cloth-shrouded body. He
pulled back the fabric, it stuck to the corpse in
places and he grimaced at his efforts. A foul stench
arose and he fought the bile in his throat. This
person had been dead for days. Slowly, the cloth
pulled away and he could just make out the features
of the face. At first all he could see were the black
spots, the sunken eyes with darkened skin all
around them. The swollen tongue, hanging out of
the slack jawed mouth, bore the same black spots
and the horrid, putrid smell. His revulsion soon
turned to recognition as he pulled back slightly and
looked at the face as a whole. It wasn't the face of a
stranger -- it was his own.
He barely had time to recoil in repulsion when he
heard a popping sound behind him. He turned
toward the door and saw the hut had finally caught
fire. The entrance was already engulfed in flame,
the dry thatch and sides going up faster than he
could have imagined. The flames reached out,
catching the cloth of the body laid out before him.
Before he could move, as the paralyzing fear took
root in his stomach, the flames licked at his hands,
his legs, his face --
Mulder and Scully's residence
June 9, 2005
4:25 am
Mulder awoke in a cold sweat, to find he was
crouched at the head of the bed, shaking. It took
him many minutes to feel brave enough to look
around him. It was their bedroom. Scully was
curled sleeping next to him, her back to him as she
hugged her pillow.
His heart slowed finally, taking its time. He tried to
move and found all his muscles protesting as the
adrenaline diminished from his system. With some
effort, he looked at the clock. 4:25 am.
Feeling a bit stronger, he straightened his legs and
sluggishly got out of bed. By the time he'd finished
in the bathroom, he was moving with more
certainty. He grabbed his running clothes, pulling
them on as he walked, found his running shoes at
the bottom of the stairs, and was out the door
without a second thought. In the east, the sky was
already starting to turn a velvet blue.
6:45 am
Scully hit the alarm button sleepily and then rolled
over to touch the sheets next to her. Cold. Just like
the last four mornings. Sighing heavily, she tossed
the covers aside and headed for the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later, she came down the stairs, the
smell of coffee and cinnamon toast wafting through
the hallway to the dining room and kitchen. She bit
her lip in frustration, but forced a smile on her face.
He was sitting at the table, coffee in one hand,
folded Washington Post in the other. He wore the
dark charcoal suit that she'd just retrieved from the
cleaners -- the one that brought out the brown and
green in his eyes. But she could see the dark circles
around those eyes from ten feet away. Squaring her
shoulders, she walked over and kissed him on the
temple. "You were MIA again," she teased lightly
as she ran her hand along his shoulder blades and
sauntered into the kitchen. Her mug was sitting
next to the coffeemaker; the 12-cup carafe was over
half empty. Another indication of how long he'd
been up. Sighing again, she poured a cup, added
the requisite amount of non-fat creamer and headed
back into the dining room.
"You have to read Ruth Marcus today," Mulder said
casually over the top of the paper. "The woman
should be canonized."
"I don't think this Pope is out to make saints of
political pundits, Mulder," she said, finding the
financial pages lying on the table. She scanned the
headlines and moved it aside. "Same dream?" she
asked, sipping her coffee to keep from staring at
him with a worried expression she knew he'd find
offensive.
"Same," he said, making a great show of refolding
the paper. "Doonesbury is good, too."
She nodded. For four nights it had been the same
dream. He'd told her about it the first morning --
had that only been Tuesday? From what he told
her, she'd surmised that the dream, or vision, as he
preferred, centered on the Black Death -- the
bubonic plague that ravaged Europe in the Middle
Ages. He'd given her sketchy details at best, and
she was sure there was plenty he wasn't sharing
with her.
"So -- "
He laid the paper on the table and folded his hands
atop it. "Scully. Remember our agreement," he
warned.
"Mulder, I know what I promised. And I'm keeping
to that promise. I won't judge and I won't try to fix
this. But that doesn't stop me from worrying about
the effect it has on you. Frankly, you look
exhausted. I'm half tempted to call you in sick and
make you stay home and rest."
"But Mom, I have an algebra test," he whined
sarcastically. He got up and poured himself more
coffee before returning to the dining room. "Scully,
get real. I'm out on medical leave enough without
wasting a perfectly good sick day on a nap!"
She drew in as much air as her lungs could hold.
"OK, fine." She wanted to say so much more, but
knew it would fall on deaf ears. Or at worst, would
start the day with an argument.
He picked up one of the discarded sections of the
Post and handed it to her. "Hey, how about this.
Would you care to go to the symphony with me
next Friday?"
She furrowed her brow, but quickly read the page
aloud. "The National Symphony Orchestra at the
Kennedy Center. Celebrate the 250th anniversary
of Mozart's birth with this fascinating exploration of
his life, music, and legacy featuring musical
excerpts, commentary, and the complete 'Jupiter'
Symphony." She looked up, joy and amazement on
her face. "Mulder, I love the Jupiter Symphony."
He gave her his patented grin. "I know. You love
Mozart, period. I saw that and knew we had to go.
I'll call for tickets when we get to the office. And I
thought we might have dinner at that Italian place
down on Wisconsin afterwards."
"Paparazzi? I've wanted to go there forever!"
"I know. You're always pointing out their specials
on the way to work," he returned with a bigger grin.
"Wow, tickets to the symphony, dinner at an
upscale restaurant." She looked up suddenly.
"Mulder, is this a date?"
He seemed taken aback. "Let's see, we live
together, have for a couple of years now, sleep
together every night. No, Scully, this in no way
constitutes 'a date'. I plan to bring a case file so we
can call it a business meeting and I can take it off
my taxes next April."
By his thundercloud expression over his flippant
words she could tell he wasn't taking her question
well. "No, that's not what I meant at all", she said
quickly. "I just meant -- Mulder, we've never had a
real 'date' before. We've gone out to dinner and
gone to movies, but never planned it out a whole
week in advance unless it's Valentines Day or my
birthday. This is so . . . unexpected. But I have to
say that aside from a deep-seated desire to check
your lower back for a removed tail, I am very
pleased. I think this is one of the most romantic
things you've ever done."
She came around to stand next to him and put her
arms around his neck, seductively rubbing his chest
under his jacket. "Sure you don't want to go back
upstairs -- we can both call in with the 'Friday Flu'."
He laughed and hugged her arms, tilting his head to
kiss her lightly on the lips. "I would, but my partner
is a real dragon lady. She chews my ass if I blow
off work for sex."
"Poor woman. Maybe she should just get laid,"
Scully replied, nipping his earlobe.
He was laughing hard now. "OK, enough of this.
We have to get to work," he told her firmly as he
stood and his chair effectively pushed her away.
"But we have all day tomorrow and Sunday to
practice up for our date night."
She watched him as he took both cups into the
kitchen, her hands on her hips. "Mulder, I should
tell you now -- I never sleep with a guy on the first
date."
FBI Headquarters,
11:45 am
"Scully, this is the last ream of printer paper,"
Mulder informed her as he loaded the paper tray.
"What are you doing over there? Printing out _War
and Peace_?" she asked. He'd been 'surfing' the net
all morning while she put the finishing touches on
the expense reports from their last case. She felt the
numbers 1372 were permanently etched on the
backs of her eyelids.
"Just some stuff I found on the internet this
morning," he said absently. He looked down at his
watch. "Hey, lunch time. Want to hit the Mall,
have a hot dog and stare at the tourists?"
She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile.
"Sure. Just give me a minute to finish this last
report. Then we can drop it off to Skinner on our
way to lunch."
The Assistant Director was standing in his outer
office, consulting with his administrative assistant
when the agents arrived. "I was about to call and
leave a message for you to come see me after
lunch," he said, ushering the pair into the interior
room of the suite. "I have a new case for you."
He handed a file folder to Mulder and the two
agents sat down in their usual chairs in front of
Skinner's desk. Scully leaned over as Mulder held
the folder between them.
"Missing persons?" she asked, as Mulder flipped
through the pages.
"The girl is the daughter of Los Angeles city
council member -- with close ties to the Attorney
General," Skinner said tersely.
"Oh goodie. So how did we get this little gem?"
Mulder asked, handing the rather thin folder over to
his partner.
"Apparently -- an eye witness, admittedly almost 10
miles away, reported . . . " Skinner flexed his jaw, a
sure sign he wasn't comfortable with what he was
about to say. "Bright lights in the sky."
Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back, as
if exposing his throat to a guillotine. Scully licked
her upper lip and sighed heavily. After a moment,
Mulder straightened up and took the folder back.
He read a little further and his forehead creased
with a frown. "Wait a minute, where was this?"
Skinner thought for a moment. "Southern
California, out in the desert," he said with a shrug.
"No, not just in the desert. In the desert outside
Landers. They were near the Integratron," Mulder
stated with a knowing smile.
"The what?" Scully countered. "What is an
Integratron? I never heard of such a thing."
"And here I thought I'd corrupted you completely,
Scully," Mulder shot her a grin. "The Integratron is
the masterpiece of a slightly off balanced aircraft
engineer, George Van Tassel. He got the idea -- "
"No, don't tell me, from an elf that snuck through
his window while he was playing billiards," Scully
parried.
Mulder's grin broadened and he gave her a brief nod
in acknowledgement of her memory. "Not quite. It
was a visitor from the planet Venus named
Solgonda," he answered. "But I must say, Scully,
I'm impressed."
Skinner cleared his throat and gave Mulder a
disgusted glare. "And this -- Integratron -- is
significant to the case?"
"Well, just a couple of months ago it was the site
for a big UFO watchers convention. They must
have picked it for a reason," Mulder observed.
"UFO convention?" Skinner queried.
"Yeah, the Gunmen went out for it. Frohike took
one of the sound baths the place is famous for.
C'mon Scully, you have to admit the little man had
a 'glow' about him when they came back."
"I assumed it was the sun and the tequila," Scully
mused.
"Be that as it may," Skinner said firmly, "you are to
go out to Landers and work with the LA regional
office on this one. I expect periodic reports on your
progress. We need to find out what happened to
those two kids -- ET or otherwise. Kim has your
tickets. You leave tonight."
"Good thing the symphony is next weekend,"
Mulder muttered.
"I just hope we're back in time," Scully whispered
as they departed the office.
"Oh, we will be. I promise. Nothing could make
me miss our first date," he assured her, letting his
hand rest on the small of her back as they walked to
the elevators.
Act 1
Landers, California
June 10, 2006
10:45 am
If there was one thing Mulder could say for the
desert, there was certainly no need for a flashlight --
if the sun was out. Even his FBI approved Ray
Bans were having a hard time reflecting the glare
off the white dome of the Integratron. His fuzzy
feeling could have been attributed to jet lag, they
had left Dulles at a not quite red-eye flight time of
4:30 pm, but they arrived at LAX just seconds shy
of midnight (Eastern Daylight Time) and that made
it over six hours travel time.
At Scully's worried look and gentle coaxing, he'd
swallowed a bitter tasting sleeping pill when they
finally arrived at their adjoining rooms. He got his
revenge when his partner had been forced to spend
ten minutes waking him out of his drugged slumber.
She was right, he had slept a full 5 and one half
hours without a single dream that he could
remember. The down side was he felt like a
vampire about to crumble to dust in the brilliance of
the late morning sunshine.
The Supervisory Agent In Charge of the Los
Angeles Regional Office had assigned a young
agent just out of Quantico to accompany them to
Landers. The Junior G-Man was complete with a
buzz haircut, grey suit, and his own set of Ray
Bans. His name was Jason Clark, and Mulder was
certain he'd lied about his age on his application.
He also suspected the slight indentations in the
young man's earlobes and eyebrows spoke to a few
pieces of jewelry gathering dust in a drawer
somewhere.
Scully was just a few feet away, inspecting a
blanket, all but buried in the sand, and an empty
wine bottle. She picked it up with latex encased
hands, sniffing at the rim. "Not exactly dealing
with a high roller here," she quipped and dropped
the bottle in an evidence bag.
"You didn't send an evidence team out here
earlier?" Mulder asked Clark.
The young man looked perplexed. "At first, no, but
we did late last night. I think it was assumed they'd
taken off, maybe to Vegas. The kids weren't
reported as missing until the owners of the property
found their car abandoned on the side of the road
and called the highway patrol. CHP called the boy's
parents; their name is on the title and registration.
When we figured out it belonged to one of the
missing we had our evidence team go over it, but
the only prints found were the two kids."
Mulder frowned, thinking hard. Something wasn't
right but the fog in his mind wouldn't allow him to
see the pieces clearly.
"Mulder, you need to come here and look at this,"
Scully called from a few yards away. She was
crouching low and poking at something on the
ground. He was beside her in a few strides,
dropping down next to her.
"What is that?" he asked. Carefully, she picked up
the object by the edges.
"Glass," she said, handing it over to him. It was
oddly shaped, about 8 inched long and 4 to 5 inches
wide at the widest point. It was irregular and the
coloring wasn't even.
"Lightning?" Mulder asked of her.
"This area sees less than 2 inches of rain a year,
Mulder," she replied with a shrug. "And there's
more of it, over there. All lying on top of the sand."
They exchanged knowing looks, communicating
and remembering at one and the same moment.
"You think something from above did this?" he
asked. She shrugged again. "Collect some of it,
let's have it analyzed," he suggested.
Clark, in the meantime, had gone into the building
and returned. "I just called the office. The families
haven't received any ransom calls or notes."
"They aren't likely to get any, if it's who I think is
responsible," Mulder said rising and dusting the
sand off his hands. "Agent Clark, if you could take
these items back to the office and send them down
to the lab for us we'd appreciate it."
Clark nodded, happy to be doing something
productive rather than just acting as tour guide.
"Sure, no problem."
As they started back toward the car, Mulder made a
left turn and headed into the Integratron. Scully had
to scramble to follow him. She caught his elbow as
he reached the door.
"Mulder, shouldn't we be going back to LA?" she
asked, though to Mulder's ears it sounded a lot like
one of her 'commands'.
"I just wanted to check this place out a minute,
Scully. The guys told me all about it one night over
cheese steaks," he mugged back at her.
The interior was just as Byers had described it. The
dome ceiling was supported by 16 'spines' that made
the center look like a double-legged spider
suspended 38 feet above. The wood had a light
stain and there were windows all along the bottom,
giving the interior an airy appearance. The vaulted
room was largely empty, save for a sling-like chair
that hung from the center of the ceiling.
"Tassel built the dome to coordinate with
Lakhovsky's principles of a multiple wave
oscillator. Lakhovsky believed that cells were
living batteries, a positively charged nucleus
surrounded by negatively charged cytoplasm. He
further theorized that if cells were subjected to a
range of oscillations, they would actually
regenerate," Mulder extemporized as they circled
the room.
"We could have used that theory back when we
were stuck on the Ardent," Scully interjected with a
smirk.
"Exactly," Mulder replied with a grin. "And
remember, you were the one who suggested the
meteor that fell was acting as a giant battery in the
ocean, causing our cells to oxidize too quickly."
"Even so, Mulder, this is -- well, a little far-fetched,
don't you think?" she retorted.
Mulder stood in one place, slowly turned around
and looking toward the ceiling. "I don't know,
Scully. Maybe if we hadn't aged 60 years in a
couple of days, I might agree with you."
"Would you like to give it a try, Agents?" called a
woman from the doorway. "Sorry, didn't mean to
startle you. I'm Barb, one of the owners. I was just
talking to Agent Clark and came to see if there was
anything else you needed to look at. Sure hope you
find those kids."
"So do we, thank you for cooperating with the
investigation," Scully answered. "But as for trying
this out -- "
"I'd love to," Mulder interrupted before Scully could
give a negative response. "If it's not too much
trouble."
"No trouble at all, it's what we do. It will take about
30 minutes for a sound bath, if that's all right with
you," Barb said amiably, looking from Mulder to
Scully. Scully sighed in annoyance, but finally
nodded her acquiescence. Mulder nodded happily.
"Why don't I go tell Agent Clark we're going to be
here a little while longer," Scully offered with a roll
of her eyes but went out to find the young agent.
Mulder followed Barb to a part of the room that had
a table with a number of large white bowls of
different shapes and sizes.
"These are our sound bowls," Barb explained.
"They're made from quartz, and we beat Ivory
because we're 99.99 percent pure," she added with a
smile. "The sound waves are tuned to the seven
chakras and promote relaxation, pain relief -- they
cure whatever ails you."
"Do you have them on a party mix?" Mulder joked,
but sat down in the hanging chair and tried not to
get seasick.
"I'll get them started, you just try to clear your
mind."
The notes started and Mulder closed his eyes. The
sound seemed to wash over him in waves, gentle
waves lapping at the shore. He smiled as he
imagined the beaches of his childhood, running
barefoot through the surf, chasing Samantha who
always seemed to be just ahead of him. He focused
on his breathing and found himself losing the
fogginess induced by the drugs from the night
before. He felt at peace and drifting on the waves
of sound.
In his mind's eye, he was driving down a street. It
was night, quiet, just city noises. Odd place to feel
relaxed, he thought momentarily, but soon he was
searching and found a single storefront, solitary on
a block. The buildings on either side had been torn
down at some point, made into parking lots. Just
the one storefront remained. The windows and door
in the front had bars, roof to sidewalk, to keep out
intruders. The glass of the windows had been
painted black so that no one could see inside.
Mulder saw himself get out of the car and press his
face against the glass. Where the paint had chipped
off, he could see into the room. He thought he saw
a pair of feet, bound -- someone sitting in a chair
and tied up.
That was all the encouragement he needed to
motion to Scully to follow him. Scully got out of
the car and walked with him around to the back,
where the cinder block structure had a simple
unmarked metal door. Scully leaned against the
wall, acting as lookout as he produced his lock pick
and went to work on the lock. He reached his hand
out to grasp and pull the knob and heard a slight
popping sound before the building erupted in an
explosion.
Mulder startled forward and almost fell out of the
swing chair, but he was caught in the ropes. The
chair, suspended from so far above, began swinging
wildly. He could hear someone calling him, but he
could still feel the heat of the explosion, the impact
of brick and mortar falling on him. His terror for
Scully was greater than his terror for himself. Even
with his eyes open he could see her body engulfed
in flames, hear her screams ringing in his ears. She
was gone, dead, he knew it!
It took several minutes before he felt her hands on
either side of his face, talking to him in tender
caresses of words. "Mulder, come back to me," she
was repeating and his breath filled his lungs once
more where it had long been absent. He opened his
eyes and she gave him a nervous smile.
"No more sound baths," she told him firmly as she
helped him crawl out of the sky chair. "What
happened? You are anything but relaxed. Did you
have another -- vision?" Her inflection on the word
underlined her concern.
"Yeah, I think so. It was something," he whispered.
"We have to get out of here."
"Out of the desert?" she asked, helping him to his
feet, only to grab his arm sharply when he swayed
and almost went down.
"Out of California. Back to DC. I want you back in
DC before tonight."
"Mulder, that's ridiculous! We're here on a case. I
can't just run back to DC now."
He knew he was scaring her, but he had to find a
way to keep her safe. Placating her would raise her
suspicions, but it was all he had. "OK. Sorry. Let's
just get back to the office and see if they've heard
from the kidnappers."
She looked at him crossly. "You don't think it's -- "
"Someone very 'terrestrial' snatched those kids,
Scully," he hissed in her ear. "And they are in
danger, I know that for a fact. But we aren't going
to find them out here."
Federal Office Building
11000 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA
1:45 pm
All the way to the office, Scully kept giving Mulder
stern looks. He knew she wanted to know about the
vision but couldn't ask in front of Agent Clark.
Mulder was just as happy to have Clark in the car --
there was no way he could tell Scully about this
one. As soon as he overcame his disorientation, he
knew what he'd seen. Someone had those kids in
that storefront and had it rigged to blow. But he
also felt in his heart that if he called out the troops,
all they would find would be a pile of rubble. He
had to go alone and find that storefront -- without
Scully. And at all costs, he had to avoid going in
that back door.
They had just arrived at the office when one of the
administrative assistants walked up to Scully.
"Agent Scully, you're a pathologist, right?" asked
the woman cautiously. At Scully's affirmative nod,
the woman smiled brightly. "Oh, good! Agent
Martinez would like a word with you -- in his
office."
Scully turned so that only Mulder could see and
rolled her eyes. "I have a feeling I'm going to be
tied up for a while. What are you going to do?" she
asked.
"I think I'd like to talk to the kids' parents, take a
look around. Maybe I can get a fix on who they
might have fallen in with, who might want to snatch
them."
"You're certain this wasn't . . ." she restated as she
let her eyes drift toward the ceiling.
"As sure as I am of my own name, Scully. Aside
from that glass, which could have gotten there in
any number of ways, and an eye witness account
from 10 miles away, all we have to go on is two
missing persons. Missing from a very deserted
location, at night. I just want to find them before
any harm comes to them."
Scully shrugged and patted his arm. "Well, I'm
pretty sure I'm about to be 'volunteered' to do a
autopsy here, so when I'm finished, I'll catch up
with you, OK?"
"I'll meet you back at the hotel, if not before," he
assured her.
Councilwoman Gainer's residence
3:15 pm
"She's a good girl. Usually she gives us no trouble
whatsoever. But since she's picked up with Mark,
well, she did get in rather late a night or two. Still, I
can't imagine them running off. Someone took
them, Agent Mulder," Mrs. Gainer said firmly,
fighting the tears choking her voice.
"Mrs. Gainer, is there anyone, anyone at all who
might want to harm you or your husband, even an
old score, someone you might have dealt with when
you were Assistant District Attorney?" Mulder
asked gently.
Her head shot up and she bit her lip. "Agent
Mulder, I understand where you're going with this.
But I have wracked my brain and I can't come up
with anyone who would do this. Yes, I had my
share of cases as ADA, but the criminals I put away
are all accounted for. As for my husband, he's a
professor of anthropology at UCLA. Jilly has no
enemies, only friends. I'm not being immodest; she
doesn't have a mean spirited bone in her body. I
honestly can't think of anyone who would take her
from us." The middle-aged woman brushed a tear
from her cheek. "Besides, wouldn't we have
received a ransom note or something by now? It's
been over 48 hours."
Mulder sighed and flipped his notebook closed.
"Would you mind if we had a look at Jill's room?"
Jill Gainer's room was just like any other 18 year
old college co-ed's, filled with certificates and
awards from her high school days as well as boxes
yet unpacked from her move back home for summer
break. Mulder looked over the selection of books
on the five shelved bookcase. Nothing unusual, not
even anything about UFOs. After thanking the
Gainers, Mulder and Clark drove to the home of
Mark Henry.
The Henry house was a modest home. A decade
old minivan sat in the driveway, but the interior of
the home was neat and clean. Mrs. Henry sat on the
worn sofa, a high school yearbook clutched in her
hands, tear stains on her cheeks.
"He's been working at McDonald's but he's started
applying to colleges, you know," she said with a
strained smile. "His grades weren't that good, but
he wants to get into UCLA because that's where Jill
is going. If he can't get in there, he'll go to
community college and get his grades up. He was
just so busy in high school, he kept down a job -- "
"He didn't run off with that girl," Mr. Henry said
adamantly. "I know that's what the big shot
politician is saying happened, but it didn't. Mark
wasn't like that! He and Jill were friends, maybe a
little more than friends, but they didn't run off!"
"I'm inclined to agree with you, Mr. Henry. That's
why we're here. And if you can think of anyone
who might have a grudge or something -- "
"I'm not saying he's the sharpest knife in the drawer,
Agent Mulder. But Mark is a decent kid. This
neighborhood -- well, some of the kids are into
drugs, gangs. Not Mark. He went to school, he
went to work, he hung out at the mall. Just a
normal kid, you know?" The older man seemed
annoyed as he brushed moisture from his eye. "We
just want him home."
"Do you mind if we take a look around Mark's
room," Mulder asked, not wanting to bother the
family any longer than absolutely necessary.
"What are you thinking, Agent Mulder?" Clark
asked as he followed the man around the room.
Mulder moved some clothes off a chair to discover
several issues of 'Blender' magazine. A couple of
posters on the wall were of military jets and the
space shuttle. Nothing jumped out at him or really
drew his attention.
"No enemies, no note, I'd have to say I'm leaning
toward someone snatching those kids whose sole
purpose was foul play, not ransom."
"Isn't that pretty rare?" Clark rejoined.
"Rare doesn't mean it _can't_ happen, Agent. Just
that it doesn't happen very often," Mulder
instructed.
"But it also means there should be more
kidnappings like this one, doesn't it? I mean there
should be a pattern or something?"
"You would think," Mulder mused, picking up a
Dodgers cap that had fallen to the floor. "Or this
could be the first one."
Clark leaned against the doorway, checking the hall
before speaking. "We aren't going to find those
kids, are we, Agent Mulder?" he asked.
Mulder was quiet for a moment, considering his
answer. "I want to find them, Agent. I'll do
everything in my power to find them."
Clark nodded grimly and led the way out of the
room.
Act II
Travelodge - LAX
8:45 pm
Mulder was lying on the bed flipping channels, half
a pizza congealing on the dresser when Scully
finally made it to the room.
"Why is it every time someone finds out I'm a
pathologist, suddenly there's an autopsy that just has
to be performed immediately?" she whined as she
dropped next to him on the bed, face down.
He smiled at her and shifted around so that he could
massage her shoulders. "Rough day at the office,
dear?" he teased lovingly in her ear.
"Yes," she said, muffled by the pillow.
"I made dinner. It's over there," he encouraged,
nodding toward the pizza box.
"I don't smell pepperoni," she complained.
"You don't smell it because you use that 'stuff' on
your nose so you can't smell the dead bodies. If you
look closely, there are pepperonis on the remaining
half of that pizza," he directed.
She pulled herself up with exaggerated slowness
and inspected the now cold pizza. Grabbing a
particularly large slice, she tore off a hunk and
chewed. "Drink?" she mumbled.
He disappeared into the alcove outside the
bathroom and returned with a diet cola, dripping
with melted ice. "Red wine with pizza, right?"
"Of course," she agreed and popped the top one
handed. "Did you find out anything interesting
speaking with the families?" she asked around bites.
"That these are the two most adorable and loving
children in the world and no one could possibly
want to harm them," he recited in monotone.
"Even the Councilwoman's kid? I thought she was
a DA before -- "
"Apparently that angle has been checked out before
our arrival. She said all the criminals she
prosecuted have been accounted for."
"So we have nothing," Scully said glumly. "I'm
taking a shower."
Mulder resumed his channel surfing but his mind
was not on the television. He couldn't shake the
images that kept looping in his brain. He knew
where the kids were. It wasn't just some 'hunch' on
his part this time. Just as surely as he'd know
months before when those people had been called to
the Milford Bridge in Pennsylvania.
If only he could figure out _where_ that storefront
was. Deserted storefronts in many areas of LA
were a dime a dozen and it wasn't exactly prudent
on his part to order the Bureau or the LAPD to go
searching them all door to door.
His visions had always been unexpected, brought on
suddenly by either contact with alien artifacts or the
more recent 'sound bath' he'd taken at the
Integratron. But he'd never forced them to come.
Maybe if he tired he could put himself in a trance...
The bathroom door opened and Scully came out
wearing just a towel. He smiled at her. "Wow, the
view in this room just got a whole lot better," he
teased.
"Yeah? You think?" she asked, crawling up on the
bed beside him. Instead of the slow seduction he
was expecting -- hoping for -- she flopped face
down again. "Mulder, I think I'm too old to travel
across the country and then work a full day," she
admitted with a tired sigh.
He smiled affectionately at her and took up rubbing
her shoulders again. "You stay right there," he
ordered and got off the bed to rummage in her
suitcase for a moment. When he returned he gently
helped her into a pair of royal blue silk pajamas.
"Are you sure you don't want to . . ." she started to
ask, but a large yawn that shook her with its force
stopped her in the middle of the question.
"Tomorrow, after you've had a good night's sleep,"
he told her, kissing her nose. He helped her pull
back the covers and then helped her cover back up
again. "Get some sleep. I love you," he told her.
She lay down on the pillows, closing her eyes with
a contented smile. Suddenly her eyes flew open and
she pinned him with her stare. "Mulder. You aren't
staying awake are you?"
"I just wanted to go over a few things," he covered,
pointing to the files.
"Look, you didn't get that much sleep last night and
you definitely aren't caught up from this past week,
either. Why don't you take another pill -- just so
you don't have another . . . you know," she
suggested timidly.
He wanted to object but saw the longing and
concern in her eyes. "Where are they?" he asked
tiredly.
"Inner pocket of my suitcase," she told him. She
watched him warily as he pulled the pill bottle out
of the bag and extracted one pill, holding it up for
her inspection. At her nod, he walked over to the
sink and drew a glass of water.
He could see her clearly in the mirror. She'd turned
her back and had snuggled down into the covers. It
was a simple motion to grab a tissue, stuff the pill
into it and toss it in the garbage next to the sink. He
drank the water and went back to the bed.
She rolled over when he returned and watched as he
slid out of his pants and dress shirt, leaving just his
boxers and tee. She held out the covers for him.
Once he was settled, she put her head on his
shoulder and wrapped her arms around his chest.
"G'night, Mulder. Love you," she mumbled.
He kissed the crown of her head. "I love you, too,
Scully. Always and forever."
He didn't have long to wait for her to fall deeply
asleep. He felt horrible as he crawled out of bed to
go sit in the chair by the window. He felt like he
was lying to her, palming the pill, letting her think
he was actually going to sleep. But it was for her
own good -- and those kids. He knew the vision
was a warning; he couldn't bring Scully when he
went to find those kids. If anything were to ever
happen to her --
She was going to be mad when she figured it out,
but he'd make it up to her. And maybe, once he had
the kids back safely, he'd come back to the motel
and apologize in person, not over the phone as he
often did. Didn't they always say make-up sex was
the best?
He'd gone into trances plenty of times in college
and when working with Dr. Weber. It didn't take
long for him to sink into the nether world. This
time as he found himself driving down the street he
purposely searched the street signs.
He brought himself out of the trance and reached
for the phone book in the desk drawer. Taking it
into the bathroom, where he turned on the light, he
found the map of LA and the surrounding area. He
tore the pages out of the book, and headed out -- but
not before taking a single sheet of paper from the
guest services folder and scribbling a note.
It wasn't really ditching if he told her where he was
going.
Travelodge
June 11, 2006
12:21 am
She awoke in a cold sweat, panting to get air into
her lungs. Even as she opened her eyes, the
nightmare slipped from her grasp and she was left
feeling terrified. When Scully discovered the other
side of the bed empty, her fear became
overwhelming.
"Mulder?" she called out, hoping he was just in the
bathroom. No answer came and she cursed loudly,
tossing off the covers and snapping on the light.
The note was standing against the lamp, right in
plain view.
'Scully
I fully expect an ass chewing, but I had to get those
kids. If I sense trouble, I'll call out the troops. If
you don't hear from me -- come save my ass. I'm
going to an abandoned building in the 2400 block of
Santa Fe, directions on the back.
Hope you aren't so mad that you won't go on our
date next Friday.
Love
M'
Anger surged through her as she grabbed for her
cell phone. She punched three buttons and started
looking for clothes to throw on as she listened to the
rings. He was smart enough to pick up on the
second ring.
"Mulder," he said in a hushed voice.
"Where the hell are you and what the fuck do you
think you're doing?" she growled.
"Scully," he breathed. "Um, look -- "
"No, Mulder, you look. What were you thinking,
ditching me like this? No," she stopped him before
he could even answer. "Let me tell you what you
were thinking. You were thinking that you knew
from that vision you had this morning exactly where
the kids are and you were going to go in like the
Lone Ranger -- "
"Scully, that's not fair! I left you a note, damn it,"
he hissed. "Look, this is all fine, but I'm kinda busy
right now."
"Where are you?"
"A warehouse district down by the railroad tracks.
Yes, you're right, I had a vision today. And it was
just like Milford Bridge, Scully. Remember
Milford Bridge? The one where only three people
died instead of dozens? So I'm here now and I think
I need to check this out, don't you?"
She chewed on her lip. At least she was there to
call for help if he got into trouble. She had half a
mind to call 911 from the motel phone while she
kept him on the line on her cell. "What have you
found?"
"Looks like late 70's urban renewal. It used to be a
small shopping area or something. All the other
buildings have been demolished except one little
storefront. There are bars on the windows and it
looks like their painted from the inside -- I can't see
anything. Wait!"
"Mulder?" she asked frantically.
"Scully, I see something. There's a place where the
paint must have peeled off. I can see movement in
there, Scully. I think it's the kids."
"Is there a back door -- "
"No!" he shouted and then lowered his voice. "No,
no good. Can't go in the back door."
"Mulder, if you have your lock pick -- "
"Bad idea, Scully. Trust me on this one."
"OK, then let me call the police. They can get the
door open -- "
"Scully, look, the fewer people around here, the
better. Besides, I found a basement window and the
bars are pretty deteriorated. Let me try something --
"
She waited breathlessly while she heard him
grunting and the sounds of metal scraping.
"Scully?" he asked.
"I'm still here, Mulder."
"OK, I got the bars off and the window opened. I'm
going in."
"Mulder, I'm calling the police now."
"Yeah, go ahead."
She picked up the other phone and dialed quickly.
When she had the dispatcher on the line, she turned
back to Mulder. "What's the address?"
"It's the 3100 block of S. Santa Fe Avenue in
Vernon. It's about 15 minutes from our motel," he
told her. She quickly repeated that information,
along with her badge number to the dispatcher and
hung up.
"I see stairs, Scully. I'm going up them."
"Mulder, please, be careful. The police are on their
way. Why don't you just wait -- "
"I see the kids, Scully. I see them. They're both
tied up and they looked drugged, but they're alive.
I'm --
She heard a thud, the sound of a cell phone hitting a
hard surface, followed immediately by a sound that
almost burst her eardrum. The cell phone went
dead; the display saying the call was lost.
She knew what it sounded like -- an explosion. But
she also knew that she could be mistaken. She
prayed she was mistaken. For what seemed like an
eternity she stood there, staring at the phone's
display. Then the earth started to rotate again and
she quickly dialed Jason Clark's cell phone number.
S. Santa Fe Avenue
Vernon, CA
1:33 am
She had finished dressing and was waiting outside
when Clark arrive some 30 minutes after her call.
She'd tried Mulder's number several times in those
minutes, getting the same recorded voice telling her
the cellular customer was not available. She called
the police dispatcher, but was told that there was no
information available from the scene. By the time
Clark pulled up to the curb to let her in the car, she
was trying hard to put a stop to her frantic thoughts.
When they turned the corner to the warehouse
district, she spotted the flashing lights and breathed
a sigh of relief. The police had arrived. Her relief
died when she saw the fire trucks and the rubble
that had been an abandoned storefront.
Her heart was in her throat as she raced out of the
car, not even waiting until Clark came to a full stop.
A cop grabbed her arm and she tried to shake him
off, but he wouldn't let her go. Finally realizing she
had her ID, she flashed her badge and was let loose
to run toward the wreckage.
As she got closer, she saw the ambulances. On the
ground near the two vehicles were indistinct shapes,
lumpy and slick looking in the strobing lights. She
slowed her pace and her heart skipped several beats.
Someone was tugging on her sleeve and she turned
to find Clark standing next to a soot-covered
fireman.
"This is Agent Scully," Clark said by way of
introduction. "Agent Scully, this is Chief Ramirez
of the LAFD."
"Agent Clark tells me you're looking for someone?"
Ramirez queried.
"Yes. My partner and two kidnap victims, did you
find my partner?" she rasped, finding it harder and
harder to concentrate with those black shapes on the
ground so near.
"Sorry ma'am, I'm not sure what you're asking.
There was an explosion. Place went up like a
roman candle. We were able to pull three bodies
out the debris -- "
"Three bodies?" she croaked, swaying. Clark
grabbed her by the shoulder, but she shook him off.
"Yeah. They're over there. Ambulances are here to
take them to the morgue. That fire was hot,
identification's gonna be a bitch -- they'll have to
rely on dental records, more than likely. Now,
what's this about your partner? Why on earth would
he be here?"
"My partner. My partner and I were investigating a
missing persons case. Two teenagers. He found
them. We were on the phone together, I called the
police and directed them to this address."
"Well, we didn't see anybody around here when we
got here. That car was parked over there," he said,
pointing to a car with a Lariat bumper sticker,
sitting just a few yards down the street. "Sorta
surprised it has wheels left in this neighborhood."
Scully jogged to the car, only to find it locked.
Quickly pawing through her pockets, she came up
with the spare key. The door opened easily and she
swallowed around the boulder in her throat. She
didn't hear Clark come up until he touched her arm
and she jumped.
"He has to be here. He told me he was coming
here," she repeated.
A policeman joined Agent Clark and looked
sympathetically at the now distraught woman.
"Ma'am, maybe you better take a look over here,"
the cop suggested, motioning toward the bodies on
the pavement.
"Agent Scully," Clark said compassionately.
"Maybe . . . you have to consider . . ."
She spun on the young man with fire burning deep
in her eyes. "That's not him. He's not in one of
those bags over there," she spat out. "Here, I'll
prove it."
Anger gave her the strength she needed to storm
over to the body bags and unzip them one by one.
The first, from the size of the body and the hands
and feet, was obviously a young woman or a teen-
aged girl. Her heart sank as she closed the bag
again. The second body wasn't much taller, but the
feet were larger and years of experience told her it
was a small man or a nearly adult male. She was
having a hard time getting air into her lungs. As she
pulled back the zipper on the last bag all
background noise around her faded. All she could
hear was the sound of the tag running through the
metal teeth. She peeled open the sides of the bag
and stared into the face of her partner.
"Scully, where were you? I needed you," Mulder
accused.
She stumbled backward several feet in horror.
When she could force herself to look again, the
image of her partner's face had vanished and in its
place was a burned corpse, totally unrecognizable.
She blinked twice and then darkness swallowed her.
The next few hours were almost lost to her and what
she could recall came to her in flashes of memory.
She vaguely remembered Clark helping her into the
passenger seat of his car but recollected none of the
drive to the motel. She recalled getting in the
elevator but had no idea how she managed to find
herself in bed with the sun shining around the
drapes covering the window.
She saw movement in the shadows and raised her
head slowly. Her head hurt terribly and her mouth
was unusually dry. The shadow moved again,
silhouetted by the light from the window.
Assuming it was Mulder, she closed her eyes,
thinking it had all been a bad dream.
When she dared to look, the figure came into focus
as Clark stood up from his chair at the table and
offered her a cup of coffee. Her gut twisted as she
realized the events of the past 24 hours weren't a
dream -- she was living her worst nightmare.
Clark looked at her sympathetically. "I called
Agent Martinez and he put in a call to Assistant
Director Skinner. The DC office emailed a copy of
Agent Mulder's dental records to the Medical
Examiner here. He's waiting for you to come to the
morgue, if you're feeling up to it."
It all came crashing back -- the note, the call, the
noise over the phone, the rubble, the body bag,
Mulder accusing her of not coming to his aid -- the
burned corpse. She drew in a breath, and studied
the pressed foam coffee cup. "I need to get
dressed," she said absently running her fingers
through her hair.
"Agent Scully, um, AD Skinner said he'd contact
your mother. He's on his way out here."
She nodded and stood up, only to find herself sitting
heavily back on the edge of the bed. The dizziness
had come out of nowhere. "I don't know what's
wrong with me," she mused. She made an effort to
rise more slowly and wasn't bother by it again.
"Shock, most likely," Clark offered. "Agent Scully,
I haven't had a chance to tell you how sorry I am . . .
Agent Mulder seemed like a really -- "
"I'll be right out," Scully said abruptly, cutting off
the younger man's platitudes.
When she came back into the room, Clark was on
the phone. He smiled sadly at her, handing her the
coffee, freshened. "Yes, we'll be there in about half
an hour. Yeah, thanks." He placed the receiver
back on its cradle. "That was Agent Martinez. AD
Skinner's plane just touched down and an agent is
meeting him at the gate. He'll catch up with us at
the morgue."
"What time is it?" she asked, sipping the coffee.
She felt so fuzzy, she drained the cup only for the
desire to have the caffeine wake her up from the
phantasm she was living.
"It's a quarter to four," Clark said after checking his
watch.
"I was asleep all that time?" she asked, shaking her
head to clear her thoughts.
"It's been a rough night," Clark soothed. After an
uncomfortable silence, he jiggled the keys in his
pocket. "Are you ready to go?"
She nodded stiffly and followed him out to his car.
As they made their way through late afternoon rush
hour traffic, Scully stared out the window. A
hundred images tumbled free fall through her mind.
Holding defibrillator paddles in a military hospital
in Alaska, watching his body jump with each
application of electrical current.
Standing windswept in a desert outside Farmington,
New Mexico, screaming his name as she peered
into the smoldering husk of an ancient boxcar.
Walking through the foyer of his old apartment
toward a sheet covered corpse lying on his living
room floor.
Arguing with Skinner in the hallway of Northeast
Georgetown Medical Center as Diana Fowley
sauntered toward her.
Trembling with the force of unshed tears as a doctor
at Georgetown told her of Mulder's precarious
condition while Skinner watched her closely and
gauged her reaction.
A thought jumped unbidden into her consciousness.
She was supposed to be feeling something --
anything. Fear, anger, soul-wrenching sorrow . . .
but there was nothing. A black and endless void
filled her entire being. She looked out the window,
seeing her faint reflection in the glass. That's
exactly how she felt -- a faint, near-invisible
reflection of herself. Experimentally she bit her
bottom lip hard, tasting the blood's copper tang.
Nothing. No pain, no sensation. That should bother
her, she thought. That was wrong. But then, what
was right anymore?
She wanted to feel. She wanted to be angry with
him for leaving their bed and running off again.
She wanted to feel loss, the deep, yearning
depravation of losing half her soul. She wanted to
feel sorrow, grief, heartbreak, and lament, anything
but this empty shell of emotions.
She should have gone to him, she thought. But
there hadn't been time. She'd called the police; they
would have been there before her anyway. But
she'd been at the motel, safe, while Mulder had --
Why wasn't she screaming, she wondered distantly.
Why wasn't she tearing her hair out by the roots? It
was her own fault, she mused. She'd held her
emotions about her partner so tightly in check for
all those years, only recently allowing them full
reign over her mind and body. This was the price to
be paid -- now that she needed them, needed to feel
more than anything else in the world, she couldn't.
No, that wasn't right. She didn't need to feel
emotions. She needed to feel Mulder's arms around
her. She needed to feel his warm lips pressing a
kiss to the crown of her head. She needed to feel
his hand at the small of her back, guiding her,
letting her know that he was always behind her,
backing her up, whatever they faced.
"Agent Scully?" Clark interrupted her thoughts.
She realized the car wasn't moving. They were in a
drive through. Trying to clear her mind to the
present, she accepted the cup of coffee he was
offering her. "I got you blueberry muffin. I
realized you hadn't had anything to eat in a while."
She looked down and found a small pastry bag, top
folded, sitting in her lap.
"Thank you, Agent Clark," she mumbled. She put
the cup to her lips and sipped at the hot liquid.
Even the bitter coffee hitting the cut on her bottom
lip didn't give her any sensation. Numb. She was
completely numb.
"Jason," he said, putting the car in drive and pulling
out into traffic.
"I'm sorry?" she asked, forcing her head to turn and
look at the young man.
"My first name. It's Jason. I . . . I just thought . . .
Agent Clark sounds so much like a stranger. I just
wanted you to know that you aren't alone Agent
Scully, um, Dana. It will be all right. My . . . uh,
my Dad died a year ago and I remember my Mom --
not that you and Agent Mulder were married or
anything -- "
"How close are we to the morgue?" Scully broke in.
He was a nice young man and she knew she
shouldn't treat him so coldly, but she couldn't hear
about his memories of his father's death. Her mind
wouldn't allow it.
I'm not allowed to feel, but I can't hear about death
either, she mused. Why? What psychological
security system was at work acting as border patrol
on her thoughts? Her id? Her superego? Mulder
would know. Oh, right, she couldn't ask Mulder.
He wasn't there to consult on psychological matters
anymore.
"Just around this corner." He seemed to be
considering his next words. "I can let you out and
park the car -- but if you'd rather, I can help you -- "
"That won't be necessary, Agent, er, Jason. Thank
you, you've been very helpful. Just drop me off at
the curb. I've been here before."
"Sure, Agent -- Dana. Agent Martinez and AD
Skinner are waiting for you in the lobby. I'll be in
shortly."
She got out of the car and started toward the
entrance. The door opened before she got there and
suddenly Skinner was walking beside her, his large
hand on her shoulder. "Scully," he said, watching
her, once again gauging her reaction. "Are you
ready for this?" The worry and concern in his voice
caused a shiver down her spine, but she looked up
at him placidly.
"Yes, I'm fine," she said woodenly. "Let's do this."
She caught the furtive glance Skinner cast toward
Agent Martinez. Martinez looked like he wanted to
be anywhere else in the world at that moment.
Awkwardly, he offered Scully his hand. "I'm very
sorry -- "
"Let's see what we've got," Scully interrupted. She
didn't want platitudes. She didn't want sympathy.
She wanted to wake up.
That thought stuck with her as they entered an
elevator and descended two floors. She wanted to
wake up. It was all a dream. She remembered,
although vaguely, another dream she'd had like this.
Mulder's skeleton was laid out on a metal table near
Brown Mountain, North Carolina. A wake was held
in his apartment. Langly was in a tuxedo tee shirt
and Frohike downed a bottle of booze while Byers
talked the 'the party line' at her. It had been a
dream. If that had been a dream, couldn't it be
possible . . .
She jumped when Skinner's hand grazed the small
of her back, pushing her out of the elevator car. He
started to apologize but she shook her head -- she
hadn't taken offense, she'd just been startled. There
was a long corridor to walk down to the exam
rooms and she felt every step take them farther and
farther away from their destination. You're going
into shock again, a tiny voice in the back of her
mind informed her. Hell of a lot of good it did her
to know that, she couldn't control it even if she
tried.
The Medical Examiner was standing near the far
wall, a light board next to him. Dental records were
displayed, three sets of negatives displayed in two
neat rows. He waited until she was standing next to
him before he began.
"There have been positive identifications on two of
the bodies so far. Councilwoman Gainer was down
earlier and identified the remains of her daughter
Jill. Mr. and Mrs. Henry came down soon after and
identified their son, Mark. These x-rays here," he
pointed to the last set to the right on the top row,
"were provided by the FBI from Agent Mulder's
file." He swallowed and pointed to the ones
directly below the last set. "We took these from the
third body this morning."
Scully closed her eyes and brought her hands up to
her mouth, her fingers knotted as if in prayer.
Taking in as much air as her lungs could hold she
slowly opened her eyes and inspected the last two
sets of dental records.
There was not even a shadow of doubt. The first set
showed bridgework in the area of the lower front
incisors, the result of being an unexpected and
unwarranted participant in a wrestling match free-
for-all six years before. The second set showed the
exact same bridgework and matched up a filling in
the right back molars. He always seemed to chew
his gum on the right side, she noted remotely.
"Would you care to view the remains?" the ME
asked quietly. Skinner sucked in a breath, but
remained silent. Scully looked over at the table in
the center of the room. The other two bodies had
already been removed and were on their way to the
funeral homes, she contemplated. That left only the
final 'unidentified' body.
Each step brought her closer, but at the same time
she felt colder and more distant, as if she were
watching herself from far away. The body was
uncovered, she could see where patches of fabric
from the clothing had seared to the desiccated skin
before flash burning, leaving only patterns in the
ash. A partial circle of plastic and metal, fused
beyond verification, lay near the left arm. With
great effort she forced her hand out to pick up the
object. Parts of it crumbled with her touch. She
brought closer for inspection. "This is his watch,"
she said dully.
The ME looked to the two men and then back at
Scully. "Is that a positive identification, Agent?" he
asked quietly.
She found that spot on her bottom lip again and
worried it with her teeth. Finally, licking lips long
gone dry she nodded. "Yes. This is Fox Mulder,"
she said, running her fingertip up the arm, not
disturbing the ash. "I'm sure."
There was no air in that room, and she started to
feel dizzy again. Strong arms grabbed her
shoulders and she found herself sitting in a hard
chair out in the hallway. Skinner was crouched in
front of her, his tormented expression waiting for a
sign that she was back from wherever her psyche
had taken her.
"I need to talk to my mother," she said softly.
He nodded and handed her his cell phone.
Act III
Margaret Scully's residence
Baltimore, MD
June 12, 2005
3:15 pm
The two women sat huddled together in the bright
sunny kitchen. Maggie sat with a tissue wadded in
her left hand, her right hand clasped in Tara's hand,
fingers entwined. It had been a long 24 hours for
both of them.
When Dana had called, Maggie had been fixing a
late lunch. All thoughts of food vanished as her
daughter told her of the death of her partner before
succumbing to choked sobs. Walter Skinner had
pried the phone from Dana's fingers and related as
much of the story as he could. Fox had gone on his
own to search for some missing children. There had
been an explosion. Fox and the two kids were dead.
"Could it possibly be a mistake?" Maggie asked
fearfully. There had been other times, too many to
count, when Dana had been led to believe that her
partner was gone, only to have him reappear just a
few days later.
"No, Mrs. Scully. The body was badly burned, yes,
but Dana made the identification herself from the
dental records. There's no mistake this time. I'm
very sorry."
Maggie had placed her next call to Tara and they
had cried over the phone, Tara promising to come
over the next day -- without the children.
"I can't believe he's gone," Tara said, breaking the
silence. "He called just before they left for
California to find out Matty's baseball practice
schedule. He thought he'd be home in time to make
it this week."
Maggie got up and patted her daughter-in-law's
shoulder as she crossed to the stove to refill their
coffee cups. "It was nice of your neighbor to pick
up Matty and take Claire for a few hours."
"I haven't told them, Mom. I couldn't. How could I
tell Matty that now his Uncle Mulder -- " The
younger woman's lip quivered and she bit it sharply.
"How can he ever learn to trust someone again?
Trust that they won't die on him?"
"Tara, neither Bill nor Fox meant to die -- "
"No, Mom, I know they didn't mean to die. I know
they never meant to leave us. But it hurts so bad,
it's like all I keep reliving the moment when I first
found out about Billy . . ." She broke down into
sobs and Maggie rushed to her side, embracing her
tightly.
"We'll get through this, sweetheart. And we'll get
Dana through this. I'm just so worried about her.
When this finally hits, it's going to hit hard."
"How is she doing today? I know you talked to her
before the flight this morning. How is she holding
up?" Tara asked, firmly clamping down on her
emotions.
"She was -- calm. After her call yesterday from the
morgue, when she identified the body and she cried,
she's just been calm. I talked to Mr. Skinner. He
said she eats when food it given to her, answers
when someone speaks directly to her, but aside
from that, she's like a robot. She slept last night.
He got her to agree to change to a different hotel
and he booked them a suite so he could give her
some privacy but still be close by. Oh, I wish I
could have gone out there to be with her, Tara. I'm
afraid it's the calm before the storm. Dana has
always been so strong; she's the last one to fall
apart, ever. But this time, when she realizes what's
happened -- I don't know if she'll be strong enough
to handle it all."
"Then we'll have to get her through it. You and
Dana and Fox were there for me -- you and I will
have to be there for her now," the younger woman
said with conviction.
The doorbell rang and Maggie closed her eyes in
exasperation.
"Want me to get it, Mom. I'll shoo them away,
whoever they are?" Tara offered.
"No, that's all right dear. It's probably just the
mailman. I'll get it."
Maggie got up and tiredly walked to the front door.
She could see a silhouette of a man through the
curtains of the side window. Certain it was the
mailman, she opened the door.
Recognition was instant and she threw her arms
around the man standing on her porch, hugging him
for dear life.
"Mom," came the startled voice of the visitor.
"Mom, are you -- "
"Charlie! Oh, Charlie, you've come at just the right
time!" Maggie told him and broke down into sobs.
Dulles Airport
4:45 pm
It had taken an Act of Congress and all the internet
wizardry his Administrative Assistant Kim had at
her disposal, but they managed to get a direct flight
from Los Angeles to Dulles. The body had been
transported on the same plane. Skinner was not
going to take any chances that it might 'disappear' in
mid air.
He was at a loss, however, how to bring Scully
back. Oh, her body had sat in the seat directly
beside him. She'd appeared to listen when he spoke
to her about contacting the Bureau's Personnel
Department and getting the ball rolling for a full
FBI funeral with burial in Arlington, if she so
desired. She had even mentioned that she didn't
want the remains buried in Massachusetts as his
father and mother had been. But beyond a few
moments of polite discussion about practical
matters, she'd been detached and silent through the
flight.
He didn't want her to worry about the casket and
had assured her that he had agents coming to
accompany it to the funeral home. She had thanked
him and went back to looking out the window.
Walter Skinner felt the full weight of her silence
settle down upon him. Bitterly, he knew the day
had finally arrived. So many near misses through
the past, he'd gotten complacent, thinking they
really could bounce back from anything and
everything thrown at them. So many times in his
dealings with these two agents, he marveled at their
capacity to merely exist. Between them, they had
more lives than an army of cats -- a seemingly
inexhaustible supply. But in the back of his mind,
he knew that was just wishful thinking and one day
he would be given the task of burying the dead and
trying to keep the one remaining alive.
God, he was tired. Skinner arched his back and
heard bones crack and pop. He'd spent the night in
a reclining chair in the living room area of the
Airport Comfort Suites, standing watch. He didn't
think they would try to kill Scully so soon after
killing Mulder, but he couldn't afford to be
overconfident. So many factors were at work. It
was obvious to Skinner that Mulder had been
murdered, that he'd been lured to that storefront and
trapped inside when the building exploded. But to
what purpose? The powers that constantly
threatened the two agents had more opportunities
over the past several years than he could keep track.
This had seemed like a simple kidnapping case.
Had it been staged specifically to eliminate one or
both of his agents?
He knew that at some point he was going to have to
answer that question. But for now, his greatest
problem lie in ensuring the health and safety of the
fragile looking woman who had just left his side to
go to the ladies room.
Maggie Scully's residence
5:00 pm
Maggie couldn't stop smiling, even though tears
were streaming down her face. Tara hovered
nearby, but didn't seem to want to sit at the table
with them. She was making iced tea and fixing
sandwiches while Charlie talked.
"Anyway, I was assigned to work with the
Department of Defense Counterterrorism Unit in
Europe and Northern Africa. Deep cover, if you
can believe that, Mom," he said with a boyishly
proud smile. "I couldn't call you, I couldn't even let
you know through an email or a letter. I was so
worried about you all. And when I got word about
Billy -- " His handsome features grew serious,
saddened.
Maggie put her hand over her son's. "We
understand, sweetheart. I can't say it didn't hurt, but
I am so proud of you. Your father would be so
proud."
He looked up at her and smiled his thanks. "I don't
really understand, though about Dana and her
partner. I thought they just worked together."
Tara stiffened at the counter, but continued to slice
tomatoes for the sandwiches. Maggie sighed.
"They've been more than partners for a very long
time," she said quietly. "They have a house
together. They've been living together, well, since
before Bill's accident."
"But they aren't married? Why the hell didn't the
guy marry her?"
Tara spun on her heel and glared at the man at the
table. "They couldn't remain partners if they got
married," she said flatly. She grabbed a nearby
kitchen towel and wiped her hands. "Mom, I'm
sorry, but I need to pick up the kids and go home."
"You'll be back for dinner, won't you?" Maggie
asked with surprise.
Tara looked over at Charlie with an unreadable
expression and then to her mother-in-law. "I'll see
how Claire's doing. She was really cranky earlier; I
think she might be coming down with another ear
infection. I'll call you." She took the two steps
over and leaned down to kiss Maggie on the cheek.
"I'll call you," she repeated tenderly. She stood and
looked over at Charlie. "It's good you're home,
Charles," she said evenly and left the room.
Maggie watched the back door swing shut and
smiled an embarrassed smile at her son. "It's been
awfully hard on Tara. She and Fox had become
friends. Fox did so much with Matty, really
stepping in to make sure the boy had a male role
model. And Dana, well, since they can't have
children of their own -- "
"Mom, you don't have to make excuses for Tara.
She's probably still mad at me for not coming to
Billy's funeral and quite frankly I don't blame her at
all. I felt horrible. I wanted so much to be here, but
it was just impossible. I almost quit my assignment
that week, but my superior talked me out of it," he
said, getting up to bring the sandwiches Tara had
made over to the table. "But I'm here now. What
can I do to help?"
Dulles Airport
5:15 pm
Skinner watched the line of women leaving the
restroom. It had been a steady stream of people for
the past 10 minutes. He had almost considered
going into the restroom and looking for Scully, but
a plane had arrived and the baggage area had filled,
making it impossible for him to sneak into the
ladies room. He had been forced to wait outside.
Finally, his worry overcame his trepidation about
invading her privacy. He stopped an airline hostess
just about to enter the ladies room and asked her to
see if she could locate his missing agent. He didn't
go into details, in fact, he told a white lie -- that
their flight had been called and he was worried that
they would miss it. She smiled at him and promised
to give the message. After a few minutes she
returned.
"Sorry, sir, but no one answered when I called for
Ms. Scully. I checked all the stalls and I don't think
she's in there."
Skinner's expression went from bland annoyance to
utter despair in an instant. "Thank you," he said
evenly and started toward the short-term parking lot
entrance. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
When the other party answered, he was curt.
"Is this Frohike? You've heard about Mulder? Yes,
I intend to start a full-scale investigation into this
explosion. But there's something come up that may
be more urgent -- Scully's missing. I can't be sure
where she went, or if it was of her own volition, but
I'm giving you an hour to find her before I call out
the troops. I will not give Margaret Scully more
bad news -- understand? Call me back if you hear
anything."
FBI Headquarters
6:30 pm
The parking garage was almost empty, it was easy
to find a place close to the door. She put the car in
park and turned off the engine. Her car. She must
have found it in the parking lot of the airport. She
couldn't remember even getting into it or driving
anywhere. Where was she? She glanced around the
cement walls and toward the entrance. Hoover
Building. She'd come on autopilot.
It hadn't even occurred to her to go to their duplex,
but when she did think about it, for a brief moment,
she knew she wouldn't be going there anytime soon.
She couldn't face walking into their home, seeing
his dirty tee shirts in the laundry hamper, seeing his
shaving cream on the vanity next to her mousse.
The very thought of ever entering those rooms again
left her with a feeling of sheer dread. But for some
reason the Hoover wasn't so hard to face.
Scully got out of the car and walked toward the
entrance. The guard on duty smiled at her and
waved her through. He was new, she remembered.
Had only been with the Bureau for about a month.
He probably wouldn't have heard about Mulder,
news didn't travel that fast. She was glad he hadn't
mentioned anything about her partner. She was sick
to death of all the tea and sympathy she'd been
getting.
The elevator ride down to the basement was quiet
and it allowed her thoughts to start ganging up on
her. Before the doors opened, she felt a panic grip
her; she felt the walls of the elevator car start to
close in. She exited the car quickly and ran to the
door at the far end of the hallway.
The door was locked, as she expected. She pulled
out her keys and unlocked it, turned the knob and
stepped inside, flicking on the light with one fluid
motion. Mail was scattered on the floor where the
mailroom clerk had slipped it under the door. She
stooped to gather it up to place it all on the desk.
The top envelope caught her attention. The return
address was the Kennedy Center for the Performing
Arts. It was addressed to Fox Mulder. Dropping
the rest of the envelopes, she ripped open the flap
and pulled out two tickets. Mozart. Their date. His
promise.
Without warning, she started to shake. She
trembled so hard she crumbled the tickets in her
palm. Angrily, she tossed the stiff paper to the floor
but it didn't feel like the expense of energy she
needed. She strode the four steps to Mulder's desk
and swept everything on it to the floor in a loud
crash. That felt a little better, but she was just
getting started.
One by one, she cleared the shelves of books and
paraphernalia. A strange feeling overtook her and it
was as if she were watching herself from a great
distance. A tiny part of her mind tried to
understand her need for violence, screamed at her to
stop, but she quickly ignored it. His basketball
bounced into a corner so she grabbed it and threw it
as hard as she could at the skylight, frustrated when
it bounced back without the expected satisfying
crash of glass. She needed sound. She needed
something to break through the ice that had
engulfed her in the last 18 hours.
Systematically she tore through the office, smashing
monitors, tossing keyboards to the ground and
stomping on them, tipping over chairs, pulling out
file drawers and scattering the contents. As she
extracted some of the folders, she tore through
them, ripping the covers and pictures and reports,
destroying his work as efficiently as it had
destroyed him. She wanted to destroy everything;
destruction was all she knew. She was panting,
heaving with the effort when she spied something
that would truly give her some satisfaction.
Without a second thought, she pulled back her right
fist and smashed it through the glass door of the
case just over her worktable.
The sound of the tempered glass cracking and
finally giving way, falling to the floor in a sound
not unlike ice giving way on a frozen lake was
exactly what she was waiting for.
She pulled her arm back and prepared to take
another shot, not realizing a jagged piece of glass
had torn through the skin the entire length of her
forearm. She punched through the second glass
door with her other fist, gleeful at the crystalline
sounds of annihilation. With a perplexed
expression she looked down and saw that she'd
managed to slice through a major vein in one arm,
possibly an artery in the other. As blood shot from
her arms with each beat of her heart, her eyes rolled
back in her head and she fell to the ground.
Walter Skinner found her just seconds later, lying in
a pool of blood. Frantically, he wrapped his
handkerchief around the worst of the cuts; the left
arm was spurting blood at an alarming rate. His tie
was called into service on the right arm. Terrified
at the paleness of her complexion, he found the
phone lying on the floor and quickly dialed 911.
The ambulance arrived quickly and worked on the
pale and unconscious agent while Skinner stood by,
feeling helpless. How had this happened? He
looked around the room at the total carnage. If
there was a single square inch of the room
unscathed, he was hard pressed to see it. As the
EMS attendants were loading Scully on the gurney,
a familiar figure stood in the doorway.
"Walter, my God, what happened down here?"
Assistant Director Jana Cassidy was wide-eyed as
she surveyed the office. She cast a quick look at the
agent being wheeled to the elevator. "Is she badly
injured?"
"She's lost a lot of blood. Both arms."
"Suicide?" Cassidy asked, shocked.
Skinner glared his reply. "I want an evidence team
down here. We have to find out what happened,
who's responsible for this."
Cassidy stepped into the room and put her hand on
Skinner's upper arm. "Walt. I think we both know
what happened here. I heard the news this morning.
I'm so sorry. I know Agent Mulder had worked
under you for several years and you were close."
Skinner stepped away, trying to distance himself
from the woman. "Jana, we don't know. We don't
know anything. Someone might have come in here,
was tearing the place apart looking for something --
it's happened before," he objected when she started
to interrupt. "Scully must have walked in on them,
surprised them. That's how she got hurt."
"Her arms, Walt. Her arms were cut," Cassidy said
sadly. She looked around the room once more,
spying the glass doors to the cabinet. She walked
over and looked closer at the frame. "Walt, there's a
lot of blood here," she said, pointing to the red
streaks on the white paint. "I'm sorry, but it's
obvious to me -- "
"Well, it isn't obvious to me," Skinner growled. "I
want this room gone over with a fine toothed comb.
I want the security tapes for the last hour to show
who's been in this basement."
"If they find out she was alone and did this herself,
it will make it worse for her," Cassidy warned.
"She could lose everything, Walt. Her field status,
her job . . . "
"She's already lost everything," he growled. "Jana,
at this point, I don't think things could get any
worse."
Georgetown Medical Center
8:15 pm
Maggie Scully was out of the car and running
before the emergency room double doors had fully
opened. She skidded to a stop at the nurses' desk.
"Dana Scully, please. I was called, I'm her mother,
Margaret Scully."
The nurse looked up at the distraught woman and
nodded, turning her attention to the computer
screen. "Yes, Mrs. Scully. Your daughter's been
taken to the fourth floor. That's a restricted floor,
I'll have to call ahead and tell them you're coming."
"Restricted? Why? I don't understand?"
The nurse looked annoyed but forced a smile. "The
fourth floor is where the psychiatric ward is located.
Your daughter is there for her own protection. I'm
sure her doctor will be able to explain -- "
"Her own protection?" Maggie blurted out. "What
are you talking about? I was told she was brought
here unconscious. What is going on?"
"Mom, calm down," Charlie said, coming up behind
her. "Sorry, my mother is worried about my sister.
Could you tell us the name of the doctor assigned to
her care?"
The nurse smiled at Charlie, giving credence to his
charm. "Certainly, Mr. Scully." She glanced down
at the chart. "Although this is a little strange.
There's a neurologist listed as her physician. Dr.
Jason Leonard."
"Thank you," Charlie said with another winning
smile. He then turned Maggie. "Mom, let's go up
and find Dr. Leonard. We'll get to the bottom of
this."
As they rode the elevator to the fourth floor, Maggie
bit her lip. "Leonard, I've heard that name before."
She finally looked over at her son as she
remembered. "Wait. Jason Leonard. He's an old
friend of Dana's from medical school. He treated
Fox last year when he -- " She let her voice trail
off, reminded of the most recent tragedy. "But why
would he be treating Dana?"
"Maybe Dana asked for him," Charlie suggested off
hand. "Mom, we won't know any more until we
talk to him. Please, just try and relax."
They walked toward the nurses' desk on the fourth
floor, located outside a set of locked double doors
with a keypad entry system.
"I'm Charles Scully and this is my mother, Margaret
Scully. We're looking for Dr. Jason Leonard. My
sister, Dana Scully is a patient of his."
"I want to see my daughter," Maggie interrupted. "I
want to see Dana now, please." Tears were
dampening her cheeks and she brushed them aside.
"Of course, Mrs. Scully, Mr. Scully. Dr. Leonard is
waiting for you in observation room three. Just
follow this hallway to the end and make a right.
The rooms are numbered."
"But I want to see Dana," Maggie insisted.
"Dr. Leonard will have to approve any 'in room'
visitors, Mrs. Scully. Why don't you go down and
talk to him."
"Mom, c'mon. Let's go find Dr. Leonard," Charlie
urged.
"I don't understand, Charles. Why would they bring
Dana to the psychiatric ward? It makes no sense,"
Maggie uttered as they turned the corner and
Charlie pointed to the door with a three stenciled on
the glass.
"Mom, let's talk to the doctor."
They entered a room with a large computer flat
panel monitor sitting on a desk and a dark haired
man in a white lab coat seated in front of it. He
turned when he heard the two people enter the
room. Rising, he held out his hand to Maggie.
"Mrs. Scully, hello. You probably don't remember
me, but we met at Dana's and my graduation
ceremony from medical school. I'm Jason
Leonard."
Maggie took Leonard's hand, but couldn't tear her
eyes away from the screen. It was a black and
white security camera's view of a room, sparsely
furnished with a single cot near one wall. The walls
appeared covered with cloth. There was a lone
figure huddled on a cot, forming herself in a fetal
ball. "Who is that?"
As soon as Maggie asked the question, the person
rolled off the cot onto the floor and flew into a rage,
throwing themselves against the walls. Now
Maggie could see that the walls were actually
padded, as was the floor. During one wild run at
the wall, the person faced the camera full on.
"Oh my God!" Maggie exclaimed when she
recognized her daughter on the screen. "What is
happening? Why is she doing that?" she demanded.
"Mrs. Scully, please, let's sit down. I had hoped
that Dana might have calmed down by now; we've
given her a fairly strong sedative. As you can see,
she's very agitated."
"What are those bandages on her arms?" Charlie
asked quietly.
"She tried to commit suicide." He turned to
Maggie. "I'm very sorry to tell you this, Mrs.
Scully, but Dana has experienced a complete
psychotic break."
Maggie looked at the screen in horror before turning
into Charlie's waiting arms and collapsing in grief-
stricken sobs.
To be continued.